LOSER'S FORFEIT
by Vyrazhi
Summary: When Yery Dolomite, a female tribute-in-training from District Two, is challenged to spar against Enobaria, all bets are off. However, the loser of their duel discovers a plot to make the winner's life forfeit...Rated T for themes and Hunger Games-related violence.
1. Chapter 1

_**LOSER'S FORFEIT**_

_A Hunger Games Tale by Vyrazhi, ©2013_

_**ONE WEEK BEFORE REAPING DAY, IN THE YEAR OF THE 62**__**ND**__** HUNGER GAMES**_

_The mountains which surround us on all sides are neither nuisances nor barriers, but inspirations. _

_We take our strength from them, and let their impregnable surfaces remind us to be the same. _

_We know neither weakness nor fear, neither hunger nor thirst. _

_We are Careers, and VICTORY IS OURS. _

I tear the page that bears these words from my diary, being careful to rip along the book's seam. Poetry is a luxury that we at the Flavius Gratis Training Academy can ill afford. From dawn to dusk we fight, and keep on fighting. It's not only our duty, but our destiny. Here in District Two, there are only two paths one can tread with honor: that of a Peacekeeper, or a Career tribute for the Hunger Games. My name is Yery Dolomite, seventeen years old, and I am one of the latter. Ever since I was born, I've battled. Glancing at my watch, I see there are only five minutes before our next sparring round. That's enough time to check myself in the mirror and assess my injuries, but not much else: _Black eye. Stiff neck. Bent finger. Not bad. _Other Careers-in-training fared worse than I did before our lunch break, and I count myself fortunate.

"_TRIBUTES! Pairings up!" _Trainer Flavius, his voice an eternal foghorn, warns us for the first and last time. Only once has he ever done so twice, in order for us to find out what happens to the tardy. I'll never forget the day he called us forward with a piercing whistle, knocked a late arrival down, and gave the signal. That's why I'm one of the first to reach the posted lists for our afternoon session. When I do, I'm stunned:

"Excuse me, sir." I raise my head high and give the three-fingered Panem salute. "Is there a mistake?"

"In what, Dolomite?" He calls all of us by our last names, except for certain powerful and favored tributes.

"The pairing lists, sir. Are you sure that the name across from mine is the correct one?"

Flavius doesn't even have to look at them. He simply slaps me, his own face a ruddy _tabula rasa. _"Go." He points toward Ring One, which is right in the middle of the main training floor of the Academy. "First."

_First? What kind of humiliation is this? _Ignoring my stinging right cheek, I stride to where he sends me. The head of the Academy doesn't even have to tell us to jump, because we already know how high. Due to my insubordination, I know that my sparring match this afternoon will not only be first, but exhibited in front of all my fellow fighters. There is a good chance that I could overturn this punishment, winning not only admiration from them, but putting Flavius Gratis in his place. After all, who truly has the power in this situation - the trainer, or those who are being trained? Even the Peacekeepers' hounds can turn on them.

"All around." Twenty-eight lean and hungry youth between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, the Senior Division, fall in and circle Ring One. As usual, the tallest and strongest muscle their way closest to its red border line. Their expressions are all too familiar to me, because I've worn it more times than I can count. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes are gleaming with a wild and ravenous light, even though they should be heavy with after-lunch fatigue. Twenty-eight rictus mouths grin in anticipation, equal crosses between laughs and sneers. Twenty-eight pairs of hands, knotted into fists, bear taut white knuckles. _Will I be beaten? _"What'll it be?" asks Flavius. "One opponent, or the mob?" The tributes in the front row begin a slow and steady rhythm: _stomp, CLAP, stomp, CLAP, stomp, CLAP, stomp, CLAP. _Its volume and speed start to increase, and I know exactly what these savage syllables mean. "Choose quickly, Dolomite, before they rush you."

"_One opponent!" _My bladder and bowels clench tight. "No matter who it is, or if it's _her, _I'll fight."

Flavius raises his own hand in the Panem salute. "Enobaria Romula Verus, step forward." No one speaks.


	2. Chapter 2

"_I've been watching you." _

Enobaria says this as she stands near the scarlet outline of Ring One, without daring to cross it yet. This is one of the rules of our training that very few of us fail to appreciate. We never enter a sparring circle until Flavius gives the order. If we disobey, then we're fair game, and either he or any observing tributes can jump in and join the fight against us. Thus, all I can do is watch as the highest-ranked Career in the Senior Division, either male or female, stalks around the circle's edge and approaches me predatorily. "You may think Trainer Flavius has made a mistake, putting my name across from yours in the lists this afternoon, but that is no error. I wish to spar with you, and have you test your strength against mine. I've observed everything: what you say, where you go, how you carry yourself, with whom you associate, and most importantly, why you do battle. Yes, I said _why. _You fight with a purpose beyond the ordinary, a ferocity not entirely borne of the arena. Once I find out your secret, I'll break you, and then you'll lose."

My breath catches in my throat. "Will I, Enobaria?" A pause. "I guess we'll have to find out."

Some of my fellow Careers-in-training start snickering, especially a blonde-haired brother-and-sister team. Their laughter starts to become infectious, but once Enobaria glances at them, everyone stops cold. _"Enough, _Sheen and Sparkle! I can't believe your attitudes are as idiotic as your names." They cringe. "Now," Enobaria continues, turning back to me. "I would also like to make a wager with you. If you win our sparring match, which will consist of one five-minute round, I will honor you by being your stylist and 'prep team of one' for Reaping Day. If I vanquish you, however, you must do the same for me. That means you'll do my hair, nails, bath and body care, and also prepare my Reaping outfit and accessories. You will make me look my best, or face the wrath of all who favor me. If you are victor, the reverse applies." She takes one step closer, and her eyes, once brown, appear as glittering black onyxes. "Do we have a bet?"

"I'll be your servant, or you'll be mine?" My opponent gives a crisp nod, and the others circling the sparring ring give a low and teasing _ooohhh. _I hate them - every single one of them. What would have been a private wager between the most outstanding Career among us and myself has been turned into a group spectacle, most likely on Enobaria's whim. She wants to try and humiliate me, but that won't happen. I won't let it. There's no way a member of our family ever goes down in a fight, either by yielding or outright loss. My own father set that precedent. In the week before Reaping Day of the 50th Hunger Games, and the Second Quarter Quell, Friedrich Mohs Dolomite killed eight of his fellow tributes before the festivities even began. He'd gone to this same Academy, was tutored under the same trainer, and had been forced to participate in what we called "threshing brawls". I considered them a senseless and sadistic waste of talented Careers, but who was I to challenge Flavius Gratis? He had instituted the practice from the very founding of his own Academy. "Is this a threshing brawl?" I ask him. He says no. "It shall become one…"

I receive slight smiles for my brave words, but Enobaria's scowling. "Enough talk. Do we have a wager?"

I stare hard into her onyx eyes, which have transformed into bottomless voids. _"Alea jacta est." _I offer my hand, and she shakes it curtly. The imbeciles around us clap and cheer, when we haven't even started.

"Since the die is cast," Flavius bellows through his foghorn mouth, "the challenger picks the weapons."

"We'll fight barehanded." Enobaria and I are far more skilled with blades and bludgeoning instruments, so this is our chance to test ourselves _mano a mano. _"As you yourself say, Trainer Flavius, if you can't beat someone with the weapons you were given at birth, then you're nothing." He nods, smirking approvingly.

"Five minutes," he barks to the voice-activated clock on the wall, so that its red numbers read _5:00. _"Lights." The lights on the main training floor of the Academy dim so that only we will be brightly illuminated. "Spotlight." A white bulb blinds me for a moment, before my own blue eyes adjust. I'm slightly photosensitive, so I fight my sudden nausea and brace myself. "Salute." We offer him the Panem salute. An eternity ticks by, in which our fellow tributes resume their stomping and clapping. However, this time there's an added undertone, a low and beastly chant of _huuu-ah, huuu-ah, huuu-ah, huuu-ah…_It continues until Flavius raises his own hand in the Panem salute. Another eternity ticks by. He gives the signal.


	3. Chapter 3

_Enobaria rushes me, _and our hand-to-hand brawl begins.

I easily sidestep her charge, but it's only a feint to catch me off guard. She gives a powerful kick with her bronzed and muscular right leg. It misses my head by a fraction of an inch, giving me the opportunity to grab her foot. I'm hoping to make her fall, so I pull and pull, but Enobaria keeps her balance. So does the crowd watching us, having backed away quite a few steps from the sparring ring. They keep up their raucous chanting and stomping. For a split second, I wonder whether they're getting more pleasure out of seeing us fight or hearing themselves roar like gorillas. I have no time to think, however, because my opponent finds the strength to make her foot connect with my lower jaw. Hearing my teeth crack against one another like walnuts, I ignore the taste of blood in my mouth and spit some out. Sparkle, Sheen's sister, gives a gleeful yelp, and my fellow Careers applaud. _Now things are getting good, _their expressions scream, _because we've seen somebody bleed. Come on. We want more. Tackle her! _I can't tell whether they're on my side or Enobaria's, but right now that doesn't matter. She may have scored a point by kicking me square in the jaw, but I have plans for her. When her head comes within reach, I grab her hair.

I dig my fingers into her glossy black mane, feeling my nails scrape her scalp, and yank her head back ferociously. If these were the real Hunger Games, I would twist her neck and snap it, but I don't. This is only a sparring match. I want to defeat Enobaria, not kill her. I want her position for my own. Besides, if I slay my opponent, who will be my stylist and prep team for Reaping Day? A bet's a bet, and this is one I don't intend to forfeit. I continue pulling her hair, yet she makes no sound except a long, slow hiss. Taking another opportunity, I land three well-placed kicks on her tailbone. Each one of them makes her grunt. Her rear end is too well-cushioned with solid muscle in order for me to do much damage there, but the coccyx? That's one of the pressure points that Trainer Flavius pointed out to us one day, a major target if we were fighting other tributes from behind. Suddenly, Enobaria performs a flying kick that startles me. At first I think it's intended to knock me off balance somehow, but it propels her into the air. She does a flip.

When she lands on her feet, the tributes around us raise their hands and cheer. Their pallid faces glow in the spotlight like those of zombies newly raised from the dead. Even though only a few milliseconds pass, I've taken too much time already watching her landing. Enobaria rushes me again, but this time it's no trick. I only narrowly avoid bearing the full impact of her body as she slams into me at full force. I stagger backward, trying not to topple over on my _gluteus maximus. _While I'm regaining my footing, she delivers a one-two punch to my face. The first blow breaks my nose, and the second nearly misses my right eye, landing on the meaty part of my blood-spattered cheek. I attempt to kick her once more, this time where it really counts - in the groin - but she shoves me with biceps almost as toned and thick as a man's. I'm seeing proverbial stars, nearly blinded by pain, light, and the raging heat of my own body. It's all I can do to claw the air near her eyes, threatening to scratch them, but one more push from her knocks me flat.

I'm not the only one who senses the end is near. Everyone except Flavius and Enobaria is shouting, _"Bleed! Bleed! Bleed! Bleed!" _The instant that I'm lying on my back, the best Career of all bests me. She throws herself on top of my battered frame, kneels on all fours, and shoves my shoulders to the floor more quickly than I can regain my bearings. Pungent sweat drips from her face onto mine, and a trickle of blood oozes at her scalp line. Over the din, I hear our trainer count two seconds, but before he can announce the third that signals the end of the match, I put my knees up and lift myself just enough off of the floor not to be declared the loser. From the corner of my eye, I see the red numbers on the training floor clock read _00:02. Has it really been that long? It feels like forever since we started fighting, and if I can just hang on…_

Without warning, Enobaria's mouth lunges for my throat. _Is she trying to kill me or kiss me?! _I receive my answer: agony. Her teeth clamp down upon my neck and squeeze, first lightly and then harder, harder - The clock buzzes, shattering all illusions of a peaceful death as I begin to black out. Miraculously, she lets go, and the vise grip of her jaws releases my throat completely. _Am I simply hallucinating, or is Enobaria licking her lips? _Indeed: she has drawn blood, and seems to relish the taste. Normally, after a sparring match like this, I would stand up and shake the victor's hand, but this was no normal brawl. All of my muscles have turned to jelly. It takes the last ounce of my strength and will to offer Enobaria the Panem salute, bowing my head as conquest to conqueror. She stands, raises both hands in triumph, and walks over to Trainer Flavius. He, in turn, walks over to me. As I look up at him, his head appears upside-down, but there's no mistaking his next action. I feel a hot, viscous wad of his spittle plunk on my forehead.


	4. Chapter 4

_Trainer Flavius' insult _is doubly demeaning.

He has spit on me, which is cruel in and of itself, but he only does that to those from whom he expects the most. I have no doubt that had Enobaria lost our duel, he would have done the same thing to her. He might have even killed her, or selected her to be in the first threshing brawl. Of course, for Enobaria the latter would be an honor, but for everyone else it would mean suicide. I shut my eyes tight and try not to think about that. Only after the encompassing blackness behind my eyelids returns to a normal gray do I try to stand. My legs shake, but they seem to contain bones now instead of quivering masses of slime. Sparkle walks over to me, her eyes gleaming and her expression haughty. "How's it feel to lose, huh?" I sparred with her during a match last week, and I'd defeated the blonde Career princess in three minutes.

"Wonderful, considering what it feels like to die." I remember how hard Enobaria had clamped my throat.

"You look alive to me, you whiny whore. Why don't you stuff Sulla's _hand_ in your mouth to feel better?"

"No, thank you. I prefer your brother by far." I grin mischievously, knowing that this is a lie in order to make Sparkle lose her cool. It works, but all she does is grunt through clenched teeth like a bull about to charge. Sulla isn't around at the moment, and I'm glad of that. If he heard what Sparkle said, he'd tell me that her idea was a good one. He's always hitting on me. I'm a Career, not a baby-making Mundane! Besides, Sulla's not my type - too angry. Flavius pumps him full of highly-concentrated hormones and steroids of all kinds every day. He's the only one who stands a chance against Enobaria, and I don't like that. A brute can fight to the death, but what good is one if, in the heat of battle, he can't tell his allies from his foes? I'm afraid that if he gets chosen to volunteer for the 62nd Hunger Games, he'll kill his fellow Careers before the weaker tributes. What good will that do, at least for the districts of One, Two and Four? I know three things for sure: I'll be Enobaria's servant, I'm out of the volunteer lists, and the threshing brawls start tomorrow.

As if those misfortunes weren't bad enough, combined with my broken nose, I don't even get to watch the rest of the sparring matches. That's a routine punishment for the losers of fights. Instead of continuing to watch and learn from my fellow Careers-in-training, I'm ordered to wash dirty uniforms and undergarments with the Equipment Managers instead. They're not Avoxes, but they might as well be. They're Mundanes - people who aren't Careers - of low status here in District Two. Still, being an Equipment Manager is far better than being a quarry worker. Even then, you have to have a perfect resume and flawless references. After some Injury Specialists set my nose back in place and splint it, I'm sent to the laundry room. A fresh and pungent pile of sweaty underwear awaits me, and I begin to dump it in one of the washing machines. "Ah-ah-ah," an Equipment Manager chides. "You lost a sparring match today, so do those by hand." I could make his nose match mine, but I won't. Such a thing would be a waste of time, and I don't want to follow Flavius' example. Thus, I take my penalty in stride, and many of my fellow tributes soon join me.

At dinnertime Cornelia, the fastest sprinter out of all of us, points at me and giggles. "Oh, look, an Avox."

"_Civis Panema sum," _I retort. "I am a citizen of Panem." _Yes, Panema: 'Panem' after the preposition 'of'. _

"What did you say? I can't hear you!" She draws out the word _hear _so that it's four syllables long, and her high, wheedling voice nearly shatters my eardrums. What's strange is that even though everyone else despises her, they follow her lead. No one speaks to me through the entire meal, staring through me as if I'm invisible. It's not just because I was beaten, or even beaten by Enobaria, but that Flavius spit on me. If he does that, then you're marked as a failure and given the silent treatment until he decides to speak to you again. Until then he'll simply point at you, and then at what he wants you to do, or where he wants you to go. All that I can hope for is that he forgives me enough to address me before I fight a threshing brawl. After my performance today, I might not even be chosen for that honor. You're only put on the lists if there is a nearly foolproof chance you'll be picked to volunteer for the Hunger Games. My chance is now slim.

The other Careers-in-training continue to chat and chew, tease and titter. I'm not fooled one bit. We all act like we're the best of friends at mealtime, under normal circumstances, but it's all a charade. The only real friendship I ever had, if you could call it that, was with a male tribute named Lucian who volunteered for last year's Games. We'd been like brother and sister throughout our training, but now my brother is dead.


	5. Chapter 5

_An hour after dinner, _Enobaria crooks a beckoning finger at me.

This is the usual start of Conditioning Time, where we exercise until we nearly drop dead of exhaustion. We do this regimen every other day, and I'm lucky that today's our day off. However, I have a funny feeling that Enobaria has other plans for me than watching telecasts of previous Hunger Games. When we're not conditioning, we're analyzing our forebears' performances in the battle of their lives, criticizing the victors and vanquished alike. Tonight, however, my sparring opponent leads me to her spartan private quarters. All of us have a room to ourselves, which is more like a cold prison cell. I shiver as Enobaria turns to me: "How much do you know about the threshing brawls?"

"I know that they're lethal, and that Trainer Flavius is in charge of who fights whom."

"Do you also know that they're rigged?" I can barely hear Enobaria as she murmurs her next phrase: "I can't fight what I can't see coming." She responds to my quirked eyebrow with a startling revelation. "Our beloved Trainer isn't the only one with our lives in his hands. When it comes to the threshing brawls, I'm afraid some Careers _campaign_ for certain tributes to fight other ones of their own choosing. Basically, they bribe Flavius to set up their rivals. You probably don't know that already because you're a second-tier fighter, whereas I'm a first-tier. Of the thirty of us in the Senior Division, there are fifteen third-tiers, nine second-tiers, and six first-tiers. Only those such as I are deemed worthy enough to be chosen to volunteer for the Games. That's why you won't be 'threshed' this year. I will, and I require a spy. I need someone to uncover plots against me - namely, you."

"Why me?" I don't have to say what I'm already thinking: _I'm a loser! _"I don't deserve that honor." _Honor?! _"What I meant to say was that I'd rather die! Leave me alone, Enobaria. Go back to your first-tier gods."

"Those 'gods' are going to kill me, and I need to know who. Why do you think I picked you to spar today?"

"You didn't. Trainer Flavius did." My hands are clenched into fists, with sharp nails digging into my palms.

"I've done some _campaigning_ of my own." She grins triumphantly. "Yery, I won, and you lost. To the victor go the spoils, and I apologize for not telling you that this is a part of our wager. As such, you can refuse again. If you do, I'll take my chances against whatever foes I face, but I'd rather not face them blindly." I stand there, mute and numb as the avox the other tributes think I am. "Cat got your tongue? Good. Since the others are going to ignore you as a _persona non grata, _I'd like you to keep special watch over the next few days. Sneak around, listen to their gossip, and report anything you've heard about who will be against me in the threshing brawls. Pay special attention to the five other first-tier fighters: Cornelia, Damocles, Ingot, Sheen and Sparkle. You might suppose they won't say a thing, but they will, especially to Flavius."

"What if I betray you?"

"You won't. I own you now, even though I don't have a bill of sale. I can be kind or cruel. Your choice."

I swallow hard. "You could have killed me today, Enobaria. I wanted a fight to the death. Why didn't you?"

"I'm not ready to die, and neither are you. With that said, if I had slain you, who would be my servant and informant?" She sits at the metal desk provided for her, with a frameless vanity mirror on top of it. "Let's do my hair." When I tell her I've had no experience styling anyone's coiffure except my own, Enobaria says, "You have seven days to learn, starting now." Thus I begin to master the basics of taming my opponent's ebony tresses. As I work, the shame and fury coursing through my veins at my loss begins to disappear. Father will never know - he _must _never know - but for now, he does not. Enobaria is right: She could have torn my throat out with her teeth, ending my life, but she refrained. I'm in her debt, and I intend to pay it off. When I'm finished locking her long, soft curls into place with several barrettes, we emerge from her room.

The other twenty-eight Senior Careers, right on schedule, are sitting stock-still on the floor of the Training Room. They're watching the 49th Hunger Games on a gargantuan panoramic television with a mixture of boredom and apprehension. None of them notices us as we sit down and begin our critiques once more.


	6. Chapter 6

_In the middle _of the night, I hear a low and ominous murmuring.

At first, I attribute it to an unsettling dream, but it continues when I open my eyes. Rising as quietly as possible, I walk to the window in my room in order to see if anyone is outside it. Seeing nothing but the merciless glare of the floodlights around the Training Academy, I shake my head and decide to go back to sleep. Then I notice that next to the heat vent, there's an extra panel - supposedly for its controls, which it has, but it also contains several tiny holes - as for an intercom? Startled, I press my ear to them and listen:

"_Come on, guys, let's get this show on the road." _I recognize Sheen's voice, as muffled as it is.

"_Just let me grab a snack." _That's Sparkle.

"_Are you really that hungry? It's 2:00 AM, for frick's sake!" _Who's that? He sounds vaguely familiar.

"_Shut up, Ingot," _Sparkle snaps, making his name sound like "idiot".

"_Okay, enough bull. Are we all here, except for her?" _My spine stiffens as I realize who's speaking, and about whom he's speaking. It's Damocles, who fights with a massive double-edged sword. _"Good. Who has the first threshing brawl tomorrow? There's one per day, so how much campaigning have you done?" _

"_It's me," _says Sheen. _"Trainer Flavius has already told me so, and I donated two kilos to fight Cornelia." _

"_What?!" _Cornelia shouts. _"You bribed him with two thousand coins in order for an opportunity to kill me?" _

"_Relax, babe. That's chump change, and there's more where it came from. Remember, too, that there are only six of us first-tier Careers. That means that in the 'TB's', either you and I will 'bite it'. 'C'est la vie'." _

"_Huh?" _

"_That's life." _Sheen gives a lame-sounding laugh, as if he's trying to swallow tiny gulps of air in between his chuckles. _"Besides, how am I supposed to earn my way into the ring with Enobaria otherwise? Money alone can't buy me that. If I want to make an omelet, I'll have to break a few eggs. I'll go easy on you." _

"_No you won't, you…" _Cornelia cusses him out, and when she's done, she sighs. _"What about HER? How much money have you all donated so far in order to face Enobaria? You 'mothers' won't stand a chance." _

I take careful mental note of the amounts each tribute claims to have spent on their assassination cause: _Cornelia, one kilo; Sheen, two kilos; Damocles, one and a half kilos; Sparkle, one kilo; Ingot, two kilos. _I realize that all of them could be lying through their teeth in order to outdo one another, but I don't think so. They're all fighting against a common enemy. Enobaria must be killed, by fair play or foul, if any of them are to be picked to volunteer for the Hunger Games. Another factor comes to mind: _The more money they spend trying to be the one to take Enobaria down, the less they have to spend on setting up each other. _Many Careers are rich, but just as many aren't. Oftentimes Career tributes, if they become victors, are their families' ticket out of the quarries. One of my peers, a second-tier fighter named Reti, is one of them.

"_Shhh!" _Damocles speaks again. _"All break. Meeting's over. Someone's coming." _As for me, I hear the sound of scattering footsteps, and then silence. Where had the five of them been? Judging from Sparkle's comment about grabbing a snack, they must have been in the gleaming stainless-steel kitchen. However, why would they meet there, or anywhere? If there's one overarching rule at the Academy, it's that surveillance is everywhere, as in the rest of Panem. They were taking a high risk by scheming together. If he wanted to, Trainer Flavius could broadcast the entire conversation to Enobaria, but had he heard? One of his famous "entrapment strategies" is to turn certain surveillance cameras off and on at random intervals. None of us were entirely sure when we were being watched, except when we were training. What if Flavius had turned off the surveillance camera in the kitchen, and thus the meeting had occurred?

With my legs trembling almost as hard as they did after my sparring match, I stumble back to bed.


	7. Chapter 7

_Try as I might, _I can't go back to sleep.

Worries and theories keep racing around in my head as I think about the control panel, with its intercom: _How long has it been there? Could it have even been installed at the time this Academy was built? Does everyone have one in their private quarters? I would assume so, but does that mean Enobaria heard the secret meeting, too? What about all the other Careers - could they have been eavesdropping like me? If Trainer Flavius controls who hears what, who are the people "in the loop" and "out" of it? Why haven't I noticed the intercom before, after all this time? Am I just that stupid, or unaware of my surroundings? _

The next day dawns, misty and pallid, before I can even feel my consciousness begin to slip away. Unfortunately, my alarm clock shrieks to life at 5:30 AM. It's time to face whatever challenges lie ahead for me, whether related to last night's conversation or not. I take a quick shower and race down to breakfast, hoping that adrenaline will carry me through the rest of the day. I should be safe - whatever that means - because its main focus is the threshing brawl between Cornelia and Sheen. Before that, we have weapons training, but that should be a breeze since we fight stuffed dummies instead of each other. In the Senior Division Cafeteria, no one speaks to me except for Enobaria, who greets me with a blinding white smile: "Good morning, bright eyes!" We both know this is a joke, because I have dark, puffy bags under mine.

I respond only with a beckoning finger, just as she gave me last night. We slip away from the others and duck into the kitchen pantry, which is big enough for two or three people. When you're trying to feed thirty Careers-in-training with dragons' appetites, it might as well be. Anyway, I don't think there's a surveillance camera in here, so I tell Enobaria what I heard at 2 AM this morning. Her luminous black eyes grow wide at first, but then she nods as if she expected to hear exactly what I'm telling her. "They're already starting," she says in a low, irritated voice. "Good work. I'll be expecting more reports, Yery. Thank you for this one."

"Wait, what about the - " I start to say _intercom, _but Enobaria puts her hand over my mouth for silence. Thus, I follow her out of the pitch darkness of the pantry into the searing glare of the kitchen lights. As if nothing had happened, we return to eating breakfast. On my way back to the table, an asinine third-tier Junior Career hurls a piece of bacon at me, but I spin around and catch it in my mouth. I crunch it in half, like I wish I could do to his neck, and swallow both pieces greedily. The people sitting around him laugh, either because they like my little trick or I've made a fool of him. Whatever the case, I take a bow and go back to the Senior Division area. No one notices. It's like I don't exist, which is just as well even though it hurts to be shunned. I can do more spying for Enobaria that way, and far more easily. Who needs friends, or even allies at this point? Our first threshing brawl is this afternoon, and I can't wait to observe it.

Weapons training proceeds uneventfully after breakfast. I succeed in lashing and kicking ten dummies to "death" in record time: one minute and ten seconds, using only a whip and my sneaker-clad feet. As I expected, Trainer Flavius says not a word. He just shakes his head. One Career's personal best is a feat that he achieved long ago, and he thinks it's pathetic. No matter. I don't want to impress him enough to regain my former status, because I've discovered the one upside that comes with being treated like an avox. After the morning session, which ends at noon, we have lunch. I discover another phenomenon that I've hardly noticed before: the crowd's chatter annoys me. _Why can't they just eat and return to business_? When we're done, Flavius summons our Senior Division to the mesh-caged Mock Arena for the brawl. However, I know that either Sheen or Cornelia is going down, and never getting up. _That's _no mockery.

"Select your best weapon," Flavius orders. Sheen picks the greatsword, and Cornelia throwing knives. "You have five minutes to 'thresh' your foe." He sets the clock and steps into the stands with us. _"Fight!" _

The lethal competition begins. All twenty-eight of us are watching, but I've been relegated to the top row of seats, alone except for the cold, stale air around me. Sheen is in top form, swinging his greatsword with maximum force when Cornelia's close, and running with a minimum of wasted effort when she's not. As for "Corny", as we call her, she's anything but. Originally, I hadn't thought throwing knives would do any good in the Mock Arena, but she either has enough in her belt or retrieves them quickly enough from the mesh when she misses Sheen. All in all, it's an even match until I see something from the corner of my eye. Damocles, Ingot and Sparkle flash a certain number of fingers on their right hands: _three, six, nine. _Are they making bets? Before I can decipher their signals, Sheen uses the blade of his greatsword like a massive axe, carving Cornelia's skull in half. The Mock Arena's mesh becomes spattered with hot blood.


	8. Chapter 8

"_Everything about that brawl _was simply off-kilter," I tell Enobaria as we're returning to the Training Room.

"How so?"

"For instance, how come Cornelia kept missing Sheen if she was such a good knife-thrower? Sure, she gave him a couple of decent cuts, but she should have killed him. Also, how come neither of them wore any armor? When Sheen backed Cornelia up against the wall at the end of the fight and cleaved her skull in half, why didn't she take the opportunity to stick one of her knives up under his ribs? It's almost as if…"

Enobaria leans in close. "Yes?"

"It's almost as if she gave up."

Enobaria murmurs in my ear: "Have you ever killed anyone before, Yery?" I shake my head. "Exactly. All of our battles, except for these threshing brawls, are against dummies, boards, or one another when we're sparring. We're never allowed to strike a blow that would slay anyone outright, until Flavius says so. Otherwise, we'd all be dead by now. You may wonder what this has to do with Cornelia and Sheen, but the answer is _everything. _Until now, what has been your impression of our dear, and now departed, Corny?"

"She seemed weak and flighty, except when she was hurling knives at targets. Then she was a monster."

"That's how I would characterize her as well. Unlike Sheen and the rest of us first-tier Careers, she never had nerves of steel, which is exactly what you need if you're going to be picked to volunteer for the Hunger Games. Do you remember telling me about how nervous she sounded in the - _ahem_ - conversation last night? She was beginning to lose not only her composure, but whatever inner reserves of strength that were going to sustain her in today's life-or-death duel. True, she didn't start screaming and running around the Mock Arena like a chicken with its head cut off. She'd had far too much training for that. However, her aim was off, and her killer's instinct thwarted, because Cornelia knew that this time…"

"The brawl was for real?"

"Indeed. She either had to kill or be killed, even before Reaping Day. In the end, that's what scared her."

"Careers are never scared." I somehow feel disgusted with Cornelia, though I can't understand why. _If I lost the duel against Enobaria, who could have killed me, why should I blame Corny for falling to Sheen in this one?_ As for the raven-haired maven, she says nothing more. Soon we're back to the Training Room as if nothing had happened. We continue our weapons training until dinnertime, when my peers once again say nothing of interest. It's rather strange: We're all here for our own sake, yet I hear Sparkle and Damocles heedlessly laughing and flirting with one another. _One last fling before the cemetery, eh? _It's understandable, but irritating nonetheless. _Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. _My appetite is far weaker than usual tonight. I can't get the image of the blood-spattered mesh out of my mind. Picking at my salad, I notice my soup bowl is tilting a little to the left. There's a piece of paper folded underneath it:

_REC. VW. 0:00_

In Enobaria's handwriting, this means _Records Viewing, Zero Hour. _I'm supposed to go to that particular room at midnight, if I choose to follow her directions. Of course I could opt out, but there's no way I will. Ever since I discovered the intercom in my private quarters, perhaps having been right under my nose the whole time I've slept there, I've felt paranoid. _Does Flavius eavesdrop on me as I sleep? If so, I hate to think about how he's probably heard me snore. On another note, almost completely unrelated, I'm glad I never invited anyone else into my private quarters. Even for a "fling", I'm proud of never having taken that risk. _When I was a little girl, I swore I'd never get married. Why should I? I was a Career, not a Mundane, and the latter could don the rings and have the babies. As for me, I'd fight until I died, and revel in that fact. Now, however, I'm not so certain. After seventeen years, even being at the Academy right from the crib, I'm beginning to doubt myself. Those murmured words channeled through tiny speaker holes are infecting my brain, and no matter how hard I try, I can't forget them or explain them away.


	9. Chapter 9

_The Records Viewing Room _is dark and empty at midnight, except for Enobaria and me.

It's more like a storage closet than a theater, although it contains two chairs and a large screen. Shelves upon shelves of discs in cases surround us - "hard copies" of files stored digitally on the computer in front of us. After checking for the telltale lights of surveillance cameras, Enobaria deems them off, and us safe. The first thing she says, her voice barely above a whisper, is: "What does Trainer Flavius always say if our sparring attacks miss our opponents more than they hit them, or if we're not putting enough effort into it?"

"_Are you the diner or the dinner?" _

"Exactly. Either we feed upon our enemies, or we're food for them. Nine times out of ten, those enemies are our fellow Careers, even though we're not supposed to kill them until the threshing brawls. The thing is, if Flavius singles you out - for better or worse - he also adds some different items to the menu." She gives me an odd smile and then tells the computer: _"Verus, 1/9/60__th__, 2:00 AM." _Then Enobaria addresses me again. "Two years ago, in the year of the sixtieth Hunger Games, I was sixteen years old. Back then, you were in the Junior Division and working your way up to its first tier. Right?" I nod. I had been fifteen. "There's no way you could have known, as you still don't, what our beloved trainer has in store if he favors you. He chose two Senior Division tributes to volunteer for the 60th and 61st Games, but he had his eye on me. On this particular night, in the dark of it, he called me to the Mock Arena for an 'elite demonstration'."

"He wanted you to show off your skills."

"Right. He'd invited several wealthy and influential families in District Two to watch, including their children. Even toddlers and infants, held in their mothers' arms, had earned this special privilege. At first, everyone was excited, including me. Who would my opponent be? The frenzied tension in the air was palpable. At last, I'd receive an audience for myself alone, and not along with all the other weak tributes in the Hunger Games! I could taste victory in my mouth, like I tasted your blood, and then Flavius approached me." The video record has apparently been pausing on the screen for several minutes while we've been talking, but for some reason, Enobaria wanted to give me this introduction. "The rest is history, as they say. _Watch." _

"_Here we have the remarkable Enobaria Romula Verus! At only sixteen years old, she has become a first-tier tribute, but she must prove her mettle if I'm to select her to volunteer for the sixtieth Hunger Games. Let us hail her properly, as she deserves." _The crowd rose, all of the men, women, and children who could stand. They proudly gave Enobaria the Panem salute and obeyed. _"I believe that she deserves a practice arena all to herself, to simulate the actual Games, and prepare her for what lies ahead. Thus, I shall now place an explosive collar around her neck." _He does so, and I can tell on the video that it's an active one instead of the inert ones that we sometimes use. _"I shall also provide her with the weapons at which she's most proficient." _He offers her two short swords, and they are anything but dull. _"Now to demonstrate." _

"_Excuse me, Trainer Flavius," _says Enobaria on the video, _"but whom will I fight? Where are the tributes?" _

Flavius walks away, saying nothing, and steps into a glass elevator that he unlocks with a remote. It takes the elevator mere seconds to rocket all the way to the viewing box at the top of the Mock Arena. He then pushes another button to activate the loudspeakers. _"You cannot refuse this, Enobaria. I wish to test you, and tested you will be. If you decline to participate in this elite demonstration, then you will die in disgrace." _He then tells the crowd: _"You believed all was forgiven? Fools! Your protests against my Academy, and the deaths of your own worthless sons and daughters in threshing brawls, shall not be unanswered. Get out if you CAN!" _In a panic, the entire assembly rushes forward into the Mock Arena from the stands. Some of them try to kill Enobaria, but without armor or weapons, they are helpless against her. The others hurry to the mesh and attempt to climb it. To her credit, my fellow Career tribute lets them. She focuses only upon the people who are clawing at her face and body instead, dodging punches and kicks galore. No matter how much each member of the crowd clings to life, however, Mundanes can't fight like Careers.

Enobaria cuts down men, women, and children equally - even infants wailing as their mothers carry them. She slaughters fifteen people. When the bloodbath on the floor is finally finished, Flavius sighs, "_Enough," _seeming bored. With another push of a button, he electrifies the enclosing mesh, executing eight more.


	10. Chapter 10

_After the video recording concludes, _I find myself shaking uncontrollably.

Enobaria trembles as well. "Now you know how Career tributes are fashioned into the finest volunteers. You also know what happens to anyone in this District who dares to challenge the almighty Flavius Gratis. Although my victims in this 'elite demonstration' were unwittingly lured into the trap, they're not the only ones. Anyone who displeases any member of his sprawling family is also punished this way. Servants who have outlived their usefulness, Academy employees whom Flavius wants to 'terminate', nosy reporters and paparazzi, even family members themselves who try to speak out against him - no one is spared. Nor will any of us be if we make the same attempt. I am afraid, Yery, that when your time comes, you'll face the same ordeal." Paralyzed with terror, all I can do is shake my head. "Don't let him fool you," she says.

"You mean that Trainer Flavius is putting on an act through not speaking to me? It's all a charade?"

Enobaria's eyes contain the only answer. "He doesn't always do it, but he likes to catch tributes off-guard. Do you think he said one word to me for two weeks before he had me 'demonstrate my skills'?" Right now you probably believe he despises you, but that's exactly what he wants you to think. It accomplishes two goals: keeping suspicion from your fellow Careers off of you, and helping you build up enough hate within your heart to kill as many 'spectators' as he wants. I can see that you hate him now more than ever, Yery." Indeed: my fists are clenched so tightly that my fingernails have dug into my skin. My palms are dotted with five blood-encrusted slivers each, and only now have I noticed my nostrils flaring. "He takes his rage out on you, so that you can later take your rage out on _them - _even though you may not know them at all."

My hands relax, and I wince at the stinging cuts on my palms. "Enobaria? Did _you?" _

She begins to tremble harder. "I could, and should, break your neck right now for asking that. However, since your life is still in my hands, I want to hold it a while longer. Yes, two of the people I slaughtered that night were close friends of me and my family. Agrippina and her infant son Nero had been invited to watch my performance, as a special 'honor' by Flavius. After all, he doesn't let just anyone behind Academy walls. They knew Flavius personally, and poor Pina was even hoping to enroll Nero as a Career baby! Why did our trainer decide to betray them? Only _he_ knows. We have both seen that one of the things he enjoys above all else is having other people at his mercy. Pina and Nero were soon at mine. Agrippina begged for both of their lives after everyone else was dead, except for the eight people trying to climb the mesh in the Mock Arena. I wished to spare them, but Flavius held up the remote controlling my explosive collar in his left hand. With his right, he held up two fingers and then thrust them downward: _Kill them both._ I had no choice but to decapitate them with one of my swords. Neither one of them suffered any pain."

"Only you did." Enobaria nods, and my stomach turns to liquid. "On the video, that certainly explains…"

"My hesitation at the end?" She flashes her blindingly white teeth. "Flavius still hasn't forgiven me for it. He aims to select me to volunteer for the 62nd Hunger Games, but I have one more test to pass before I do."

"The threshing brawls." Another nod from Enobaria. "How can he legally get away with it? I know our laws are _lax _concerning who punishes common criminals, or traitors to the Capitol, but he's from District Two."

"Not originally." At my shock, she laughs gently. "Surprised, are you? He's a Capitolite. He and his ilk can do whatever they please, and Flavius' dream was to train the finest tributes for the Hunger Games that Panem had ever seen. To that end, he decided to spurn District One because he found the people in it too weak and spoiled by luxury. Not us. We're born and bred to fight, so fight we will. Two more things: He also donates proceeds from this Academy to 'charitable organizations' overseen by his friends and family. So, to pay his own tribute to the Capitol he willingly forsook in pursuit of a greater goal, he sends money back home and tributes to the Games. One more 'export' exits this Academy, and I fear that, if you're not ready or careful, you might become one. Not all who are called to 'demonstrate' and lose are killed, Yery."

"What could be worse than dying in disgrace, either in a threshing brawl or your…penultimate trial?"

We hear a creaking noise. _"Break." _Enobaria and I flee the Records Viewing room in different directions.


	11. Chapter 11

_Another sleepless night passes. _

I spend the rest of it thinking about Enobaria's revelations. First, what had she warned me about through speaking of "exports"? I now knew that every year, Flavius sent two things to the Capitol from this Academy: money and volunteers for the Hunger Games. What else did he offer up annually? Also, why was Flavius protecting me through treating me like an outcast? Did he want me to fight Enobaria _again, _in one of the upcoming threshing brawls? My stomach lurched at the possibility. I was only a second-tier fighter, so unless he wanted to try and eliminate me from the Senior Division permanently, what else did he want? Did he really believe I could beat her, even after my previous loss? The most disturbing question of all was this: How could I possibly escape my predicament, if what Enobaria said was true? As morning comes and goes, I try to keep myself distracted through elegantly styling her nails and hair. "You're learning fast," she says with a surprisingly sweet smile. "Perhaps your true talents are being wasted."

"In the arena? _Hah! _You're just looking down on me because I'm on a lower tier compared to you."

"All I meant was…" I'm taken aback, because Enobaria truly seems hurt by my dismissal. She's given me a sincere compliment, and I just threw it right back in her face. "All I meant was thank you, once again."

"You're welcome." I bow my head, not looking up until her coiffure is finished. Even though it holds no jewels or trinkets, as it might when she steps aboard her chariot for the Games, it's still lovely. "By the way," I whisper, "I've been thinking about everything you've said to me so far. You have been kind to me these past few days, and I'm grateful for that. When nobody talks to you, after a while you start to feel like you really _don't _exist." Enobaria fingers a long black curl hanging around her shoulders, staying silent. I can tell she's feeling pensive, and there's a hesitation in her manner now where there never was before. To break us both out of this tense mood, I sniff the air. "I smell fried eggs. Let's grab some now, because I don't want all the stinky guys like Ingot and Damocles getting theirs first." We laugh and then head out. When we reach the dining hall, I hear different sounds from the TV than the screams of dying tributes:

"_So, Diva, what's the latest word on the preparations for the 62__nd__ Hunger Games?" _

"_Phfft. You know the only part I care about is the chariots - fashion and more fashion! Isn't it great?"_

"_Who's _watching Diva Chrysolite from District One?" We all freeze, because we all know who's speaking. "There's only one person I know of who actually likes this show. She should do one hundred push-ups."

"Two hundred!" teases Sparkle's idiot brother. Trainer Flavius compromises at 150. While the rest of us eat, the only entertainment we get to watch is the blonde-haired bombshell exerting herself noisily. I can't say it's boring, because for a Career, Sparkle's a "girly girl" and hates calisthenics with a passion. When she's done, sweat is pouring down her face and hair, and she winces at her unkempt appearance afterward. Flavius doesn't even let her shower before our after-breakfast activities, running and stretching. I almost feel sorry for her, until I remember she has a threshing brawl today and needs to be in top shape. Sparkle is facing Ingot, and he's an absolute leviathan with a warhammer. Will he be able to defeat her? _Kill her _is what I mean, but after last night, I want to block out that reality until it stares me right in the eye.

In the Mock Arena, I notice Damocles and Sheen flash the numbers _one _and _four _with their fingers. What are they doing? Are those the number of "kilos" they're planning to contribute to the "Set Up Enobaria" fund today? I sigh in disgust and steel my nerves for today's duel. Ingot, as usual, picks his favorite weapon. Sparkle selects the sword and shield, which I find wise so that she'll have two defenses against his blows. "As I told Cornelia and Sheen," says Trainer Flavius, "you will have five minutes to 'thresh' your opponent, fellow Career, and mortal enemy. _Fight!" _The brawl begins, and I find myself rooting for Ingot. He may not be the strongest or most clever of the twenty-eight of us, but I want him to beat Sparkle. A seventeen-year-old tribute who acts like she's eight, and a princess at that, doesn't deserve to win. Ingot dodges Sparkle's longsword several times, and also manages to ruin her metallic round shield. However, that gives her an opportunity to lunge forward and stab her blade right into his waiting abdomen. We gasp at the blood spurting onto the red mesh, because none of us can believe Sparkle has won. Not even two minutes have passed in this threshing brawl, yet in that time, the spoiled little brat has taken down a giant!


	12. Chapter 12

_There is no law in the arena, _even a mock one, and therefore no justice.

In all of the previous sparring matches between Ingot and Sparkle, the former came out on top. How did that disgusting diva, the spitting image of her idol on TV, kill a demigod that should have done the same to her? I guess that when you're fighting for your life, anything can happen, especially adrenaline and ingrained muscle memory taking over your normal processes of thinking. Still, Ingot must have felt the exact same sensations before he died. That's certainly what I experienced in my duel against Enobaria. Is it your sheer amount of training that provides the final edge in mortal combat, or something else? Out of all the possibilities that occur to me, I decide to believe it was pure chance that Sparkle became the victor of today's brawl. _Luck was on her side, that's all. Even though she'll claim the opposite, I'll know better. _

Sitting at my usual empty dinner table, on the third night of the week before Reaping Day, I watch her brag about her oh-so-superior skills. Several third-and-second-tier fighters shower Sparkle with admiring looks and compliments, and the four remaining first-tiers give her high-fives. At first I'm irritated. _Why are her future opponents all sucking up to her, even if she beat Ingot?_ Then I remember three things: she's resplendent, ruthless, and rich. Sparkle may not be the most powerful Career in the Senior Division, or even the best first-tier, but she's definitely the most popular. Only Trainer Flavius is immune to her charms. That's why he made her do 150 push-ups this morning. However, he doesn't seem to be immune to her "donations", if Sparkle really is trying to trap Enobaria into fighting a certain opponent in a threshing brawl - namely, her. This thought pleases me immensely. I'm so busy imagining Enobaria pummeling Sparkle's pretty face into an unrecognizable pulp that I almost miss the former leaving the dining hall. At first I only think she's gone to use the restroom, but when she doesn't come back after twenty minutes, I get concerned. I finish my bottled water and depart, then knock gently on the door to Enobaria's quarters. After a long pause, Enobaria steps to the door and unlocks it. Her face, normally bronze, appears ashen.

"Are you all right, Enobaria?" I ask her. I suddenly realize that there's too much alarm and concern in my voice. As a Career, I shouldn't be worried if any other one of us falls ill, especially my former opponent. However, I'm a human being, not merely a fighting machine. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone."

"Come in." It's a command, not a request, so I shut the door. Enobaria climbs into bed, motioning for me to sit in the chair beside it. "I can't believe Sparkle won, especially after what she and Sheen are doing."

"You mean bribing Trainer Flavius so that they'll get to fight you in one of the threshing brawls this week?"

"Not only that." She takes a deep breath, which sounds a bit ragged. "Tell me: why do _you_ hate Sparkle?"

"She always acts like she's better than the rest of us, even her fellow first-tiers, like you. Not only that, but she's spoiled and thinks she can get away with anything. How stupid could she be to think that Flavius wouldn't catch her watching Diva Chrysolite instead of previous Hunger Games, for instance? Personally, I don't think that she deserved to win against Ingot today. He's worked harder than she has, and it makes me sick to think that luck favored someone like her instead of him. Still, it did. She's alive, and he's dead."

"Is that all?" Even though she's clearly sick, Enobaria still manages to give me a wan smile.

I blink. _Does she know? _Biting my lower lip, I make a risky decision: to tell her everything. "The auditions. Remember? 'If you're not a first-tier, you're not a true Career'. Last month, all of us lesser fighters were given our very last chance before Reaping Day to climb into first tier. We engaged in grueling duels, which were only less brutal than these threshing brawls because they weren't fights to the death. Anyway, I signed up for the auditions, and worked my way up to the championship. Guess who my opponent was?" Sighing bitterly, I swore under my breath. "Sparkle won, and made first tier. That night, I threw up twice."

Enobaria's eyes widen just a tad. "I think you might be more than a sore loser, Yery, even after all this time. Was your auditioning duel that hard on you, to make you vomit?" I think for a while, and then nod. "Even so, what were your exact symptoms besides that?" I tell her, and then she nods knowingly. "I think something else was involved. Some_one_ else, too. If so, Sparkle's more clever than both of us thought." As I gape and try to figure out what in Panem she means, Enobaria whispers: "We've both been poisoned."


	13. Chapter 13

"_How do you know that?" _I ask Enobaria.

My mouth has suddenly gone dry. "Even if you're right, do you think that Trainer Flavius will punish Sparkle? Will he even care? I mean, we're Careers in training for the Hunger Games, in which anyone can theoretically win. In his eyes, what would be so wrong with trying to poison one another in the meantime, demonstrating 'survival of the fittest'? I'd think he would be proud."

"Forget Flavius. If I have been poisoned, then I want revenge for my own sake. I'll slaughter that little -"

"Wait! Not until we know for sure, and have evidence in our possession. Until then, you rest. I'll sleuth."

Enobaria flashes her teeth. "I thought I was the master here, and you the servant, Yery Dolomite."

Why is a noticeable blush filling my cheeks with unwelcome heat? "Sorry. Should I send for an Academy Medic?" Enobaria thinks for a minute and then nods. The expression on her face is clear: She doesn't want to be seen as weak, or have anyone else besides me know she's sick, but she's taking no chances. If she's going to survive until Reaping Day, she can't afford to be any more ill than she already is. I leave her private quarters and consider my options. As clearly as day, it occurs to me that I could abandon Enobaria in this state, frustrate her own requests for treatment, and watch her become weaker by the day. That way she would surely be threshed, and someone else could volunteer for the Games. Who knows? If she dies, another second-tier tribute might have to be promoted to first, and that could very well be me.

The only thing that breaks me out of this almost all-encompassing reverie is a muffled cry from Enobaria. Luckily, I didn't close the door all the way so it would lock, and so I dart back inside. I cough and cover my mouth when I see what's happened: our strongest first-tier Career has soiled her bed with diarrhea. Horrified, I ignore the stench, rush to her nightstand, and call via the regular intercom - not the secret one - for one of our Medics to tend to her. Enobaria herself is too weak to do so. She can barely hold her head up, and she's shutting her eyes tight against the pain and shame. What she says next is even worse: _"Not enough." _She means that, with us being Careers, there really aren't enough Medics to go around and treat all of our medically-serious injuries. That's why I forget all semblance of manners and scream over the intercom. It isn't long before Medic Carlina arrives, and she winces at the pervasive reek of loose bowels.

Nevertheless, she asks Enobaria a few rapid-fire questions, and then turns to me: "We need a doctor." Medic Carlina has me summon Acte Faustin, the most skilled physician at the Academy. Usually, that only means the one who's most securely in Trainer Flavius' good graces, but not this time. "Dr. Acte" knows us Careers in the Senior Division almost as well as if she raised us. At least she knows our bodily miseries that thoroughly, and she arrives even faster than her assistant had. I start to take my leave again, but Dr. Acte says: "If you're willing to help, too, then I certainly could use it. Carlina? Strip the bed. Yery? If you have arms and a gag reflex as strong as steel, then lift Enobaria up and hold her for a minute." We obey without hesitation, and my heart leaps into my throat. Enobaria's own pulse is becoming irregular. She looks at me as if she recognizes me from somewhere else besides this Academy. Her gaze is far-off.

"Hang on," I tell her. "Dr. Acte's here, and she'll figure out what's wrong in no time." _At least, I hope so. _

"_Sister?" _Enobaria says. "You're not a Mundane, little Idesta. You're worth everything in the world to me."

Before I can ponder this case of mistaken identity, Dr. Acte gives more orders: "Carlina? Help me hook up these tubes, and I'll put the IV bags on. Yery? Put Enobaria back down on the mattress, but you're not going to leave her lying in her own waste. You need a big container of warm, soapy water in order to bathe her, and two unused washrags to cleanse each part of her perineum thoroughly. Hurry!" At first I consider leaving posthaste. That's the kind of lowly and revolting chore that Dr. Acte and Carlina can easily do by themselves, but it only takes me a fraction of a second to decide otherwise. As Enobaria lies still, I gently scrub between her legs, fetching more washcloths as needed. When my considerable, lathery work is done, I rinse her off, dry her with a towel I grab from the bathroom, and then put a clean blanket over her. Fortunately, Enobaria doesn't have another diarrhea attack, but I'm still worried. When Dr. Acte tells me what's in the IV bags, I'm shocked, but can't say I'm surprised: "It's dimercaprol. She's ingested arsenic."

_Ah. The old standby, as ancient as pre-Panem days. She's been poisoned, all right, and I know the culprit. _


	14. Chapter 14

"_Yery Dolomite. The perfect little philanthropist, and the perfect little volunteer…" _

It's funny how such an innocent-sounding voice can be so utterly terrifying. As soon as I leave Enobaria's quarters for the second time, Sparkle corners me and leans right up in my face. "Let's take a walk, yes?" Her azure eyes live up to her namesake, but they glitter with murderous intentions. If I weren't a Career, I would be deathly afraid for my life, but those such as we are never scared. So says almighty Flavius. With this in mind, I follow Sparkle straight to the one place I knew she'd take me: the Mock Arena. Having been power-washed clean by the Academy's Sanitation Technicians - its nearly-penniless servants - it's ready for yet another bloodletting. I stiffen my spine and prepare for Sparkle to attack me, but she doesn't. To my surprise, she snakes an arm around my shoulders as if we've been best friends forever. _What is this? _"I'd like to make a deal with you," she says, smiling sweetly. "Enobaria probably told you that she has me in mind as a suspect, and I daresay you do too. Keep silent, and you'll get something priceless in return."

"Such as bribe money, like you offer our Trainer? Something tells me you don't even have twenty kilos to spend anymore, not with all of the bets you've been making against Enobaria. You may be rich, but are you _that _rich? The laughable thing about 'donations' is that sooner or later, they become blackmail. Once your mark fully understands that you'll keep paying him or her to make things go your way, then that person will eventually turn the tables on you. They'll expect increasing amounts, and not just accept them with the pleasure that they once did. By the way, how come you didn't use arsenic on me, dear Sparkle?"

"I wanted to incapacitate you, not kill you, second-tier. Thus I had some of the Culinary Personnel offer you steak that had gone a week past its expiration date. I know you like your meat rare, as all of us do. Rat poison is for rats, and Enobaria is one. Do you really think she's some kind of a saint? Is that why you washed all the diarrhea out of her bloated anus-hole? She'll tear us all apart without hesitation if we let her. Didn't you learn _anything_ from losing a duel against her? I guess not, and that sorely disappoints me. I honestly believed you were smarter than that, and would applaud me for my 'proactive intervention'. Some might disapprove, like the worthless fools in the lower Districts who still believe in things like compassion. However, I'm only doing what any other Career in their right mind would do, if they were clever. Why face an opponent who's stronger than you are in the threshing brawls, if you can poison them beforehand?"

"I'd rather die with honor than live with none, you viper!"

Sparkle suddenly starts laughing. "You're the most worthless Career in this entire Academy, then. All of your training has been wasted if you value honor above your own survival. That's what the Hunger Games are all about. Victors are murderers, nothing more. The only difference between them and the criminals we punish is that the former have killed according to the law, while the latter have killed outside of it. You may be surprised to learn that I wasn't offering you money, Yery. I was offering you a chance to live." With that, she pulls a throwing knife out of the right pocket of her uniform. Reacting faster than the speed of thought, I reach out my hand and grab the blade, and it digs into my palm. Before she can hurl another, a male voice that we have come to obey and fear stops us cold. All he says are two words, and we freeze:

"_Nice catch." _Trainer Flavius sighs. "That's two good tributes with serious injuries in one night. As for you, Sparkle," he almost purrs, "guess what? I heard this entire unsavory conversation. _No one _enters the Mock Arena without my knowledge. With that said, you'll be fighting another threshing brawl tomorrow."

"That's not fair."

"You know what else isn't fair? The Hunger Games, and you'd better get used to that if you hope to have a chance of my selecting you to volunteer. To your quarters, Sestina. Dolomite? Let's see your hand." As Sparkle departs, Flavius lifts my throbbing palm to his, despite the blood cascading out of it like a fountain. "Not as bad as I thought. It seems to have missed veins and arteries, but it's more than a flesh wound." I encounter Dr. Acte once more, who says I was lucky to have caught the throwing knife instead of falling victim to it. Sparkle may be best with a longsword and shield, but she learned a few tricks from Cornelia, too. Once my right hand is bandaged and immobilized, I head for Trainer Flavius' office despite the agony. With all of the wagering going on between tributes, especially against Enobaria, I decide to offer up as much money as I can to make a little bet of my own. _You think I'm stupid and worthless, eh? Just watch. _


	15. Chapter 15

_After two consecutive nights of insomnia, _I finally manage to dream:

Trainer Flavius has not only been speaking to me again, but he's also offered me a reconciliation present. It's wrapped in glittery, gold paper and tied with a violet ribbon. These are the colors of royalty, and I eagerly grab the box. However, there's a strange smell surrounding it, a pervasive, sickly-sweet odor that reminds me of rust. I lift the lid to find a severed head wrapped completely in gauze, surrounded by congealed blood. I freeze in shock and horror, but the gruesomeness of the gift is not what terrifies me. Instinctively, I know that if I dare to unwrap the head, it will come to life. That's what makes me wake up. As usual when I have a nightmare, I feel the overwhelming urge to pee, which I satisfy. Still, while I'm awake, I imagine unwinding the strips of gauze, pure and unsullied by scarlet stench, and seeing it blink.

_You did what you had to do, Yery. You're a Career tribute._

_Even those such as you don't sink that low, except for perhaps Sparkle herself. Then again, maybe not. _

At breakfast, all is well. The food is delicious, the Hunger Games recaps are saturated with crimson gore, and none of the tributes in the Senior Division seems to know anything. My secret's safe, at least for now. Nevertheless, I can tell that out of the corners of their eyes, they're all looking at me. They're not supposed to, because I'm still _persona non grata, _but there's no mistaking where their gazes turn when they're not talking to one another. They're watching me, waiting for something, although they don't yet know what. We Careers have been trained from birth to observe everything around us, until we do so by reflex. After that, we're taught which stimuli upon which to focus, and which to tune out, like we do the background noise of the Games commentators. We're supposed to be riveted upon their exploits, but as long as Flavius is in his office instead of the dining hall, we revert to calming chatter. _While the cat's away, the mice will play. _No one says anything about Enobaria, who's receiving her meals in her private quarters. It's just as well. The fewer people who know the truth about what went on last night, the better. We all need our privacy.

"Good morning, tributes," says Flavius with a salute as he enters the dining hall. "Who did Girl Eleven kill?"

"_Whom, _Trainer Flavius," corrects Damocles, "and the answer is Boy Five. He was limp-wristed, I think." I have to hand it to him: he's been watching just enough of the Games in order to answer the question, when I know his mind is somewhere else. He's scheduled to fight a threshing brawl today, but he won't. He doesn't know that right now. I believe the wager that I made at midnight has spared his life for another day, unless the Careers against _whom_ I've made bets have found that out already, and upped the ante.

"What could he have done better?" Flavius shows no sign of being insulted, but deep down, I know he is.

"Everything." Despite themselves, several of his fellow tributes snicker. I grin, stretching my lips tight.

To my surprise, our trainer does nothing except turn and walk away. Ordinarily, he would have made Damocles do fifty jumping jacks in front of us for such a cop-out answer, so what was wrong this morning? None of us says anything for a minute, and then our conversations return to the murmurs we've always used. As for me, I order one more poached egg than usual and concentrate upon savoring it. Something's wrong, and not just because of what happened with his favorite Career. Flavius seems _hollow_, empty, as if one of our Academy Chefs had taken a ladle and scooped out his guts in order to boil them in soup. For that matter, what's wrong with _me_ today, finding myself thinking of scalded viscera and severed heads? I also order an extra vitamin shake and go to my quarters for another hour of sleep once breakfast is over.

After that, I glance at my bedside clock. It's time for the day's main event: the third threshing brawl. I knock at Enobaria's door first, asking her if she's feeling well enough to come to the Mock Arena. "Am I fighting?" she asks in return. I give a nonchalant shrug, and then wink ever-so-slightly. "Good," she says.

When all of us are gathered in the seats, surprisingly plush and comfortable for those in such a harrowing amphitheater, Trainer Flavius swaggers in. Not only has he regained his lost energy, but he also seems to have been reborn - as a muscular Caesar Flickerman, no doubt, but oozing charisma all the same. "We've had a slight change in plans from our usual schedule. Sparkle Sestina will be brawling…Sheen Sestina!"


	16. Chapter 16

"_Yery, you filthy whore. _You made a wager to place me opposite my own brother, didn't you? _Didn't you?" _

I say absolutely nothing to Sparkle, although my pulse is racing. Retreating inside my mind, I imagine the beginning of a story: _Once upon a time, there was a Career tribute who thought that she had honor, but she was only pretending. However, she didn't know that. She believed the lies she told herself, in order to think that she was good. One day the lies failed to convince her, and the tribute realized that she was evil. _

"Sparkle," says Sheen, rolling his eyes, "you've got to be kidding. Trainer Flavius sets up these brawls."

"Upon the whim of whomever donates the most bribe money, you _dolt. _How much are we worth? Huh?"

Despite the stifling heat in the Mock Arena, I'm visibly shivering. "Justice may be a lie at this Academy, but revenge isn't. My bet against you was seven kilos, although someone else helped bring it up to fifteen."

"Come on, Trainer Flavius. This isn't fair, and you know it," protests Sparkle, trying to keep her voice from trembling. "Sheen and I are siblings, but because of Yery and _her, _we've been caught in a wicked trap. If we're supposed to be paired against one another in a threshing brawl, let's have it done the honest way."

"You are wholly correct," our illustrious trainer replies. "As honestly as the way you poisoned Enobaria."

"_I did not!" _

He clicks his tongue. "I'm disappointed. Loud and shrill denial isn't your style, Sestina. Do you forfeit?"

"What do you mean?" Her exquisite face blanches. "Am I going to _let _my brother slaughter me?" Flavius nods. "Are you insane? Why in Panem would I? I'm a Career, and if I have to fight him and kill him, I will."

"Well, then: do you forfeit, Sheen? Will your loyalty to your sister outweigh your desire to win? To live?"

Sheen doesn't answer Flavius. Instead, he tells her: "I would've been merciful. With one clean blow, I would have…decapitated you, and that would have been that. I won't forfeit. I loved you so much, Sparkle of mine, but now it's over. This means war." He shakes his head. "It wasn't supposed to happen, eh?"

"_No!" _Sparkle's answer is a scream, which makes all of us jump. Even I didn't think she'd come unglued.

"Isn't that what we all say, when push comes to shove?" He shakes his head again. "I'll use a pair of sais. One of us needs to be gutted like a fish, and it isn't me." Sheen winks at Flavius coldly, no longer the dolt. "Besides, Sis, if you didn't even consider the possibility of us having to 'thresh' one another, _you're_ the idiot. I'll say no more. Set the clock for five minutes, and let's get this over with." In his voice I hear neither fear nor desperation, but the matter-of-factness of someone who's heading for the bathroom - not the arena. For a moment I consider telling Flavius to cancel the brawl, or let me fight Sparkle instead, but that's not the way things are done around here. I'm only a second-tier tribute, and don't deserve the honor.

To my amusement Sparkle selects the net and trident, like Careers from District Four would use. "Fish!" she sneers, laughing with a wet chuckle afterward. "Here, fishy, fishy, fishy!" She rushes toward him once the clock starts, but Sheen dodges her effortlessly. All he does is slice at her net with his sais instead of her body. If Sparkle's snare is rendered useless, all she can do then is impale him, but how will she be able to do that unless she's really good at throwing tridents? The last time I checked, she wasn't, and it takes forever for her to catch her brother. He almost trips a couple of times, but Sheen is a formidable fighter. Sparkle manages to entangle him in the net, or so she thinks, but she's gotten too close to him. He plunges both of his sais into her stomach, thrusting them upward several times to eviscerate her. We in the stands try not to vomit, or at least I do. The others stare, fascinated and horrified, and then cheer. Only as Sheen raises his hands in victory do we see the bloody lattice upon his frame, etched in caustic acid.

_So the net was coated in the stuff. I have to hand it to you, Flavius. Sparkle's hands must be hamburger. _


	17. Chapter 17

_Sheen gives me _the Panem salute at dinnertime - the first real notice from him that I've received in days. As pleased as I am by this, however, I'm also worried. Why didn't he give me the middle finger instead? I had caught both him and his horrid sister in a lethal trap, but offering someone the salute of our nation is a gesture of respect. I'm even more surprised when he comes over to me at my otherwise-barren table: "It's not every day I'm outmaneuvered, especially by a second-tier. Congratulations. You deserve promotion."

"As you deserve revenge." A backhanded compliment: _You're ferocious, _but also, _What's your scheme? _"I believe you're going to have to offer more donations to Flavius if you want me in first-tier, though. My skills alone haven't been sufficient so far." I'm feeling nauseous, but somehow I doubt it's due to poison again. "Also, I can't entirely take credit for pairing you against your sister. If Enobaria hadn't raised my wager by eight kilos, it wouldn't have happened - at least not today." My heart is racing in my chest; I'm forgetting to exhale. "We could have made sure Sparkle fought Damocles in her second threshing brawl instead, but -"

"That's why you both owe me." Only now do I notice the stinging blade of cold metal at my throat. Sheen has taken up his steak knife, intending to use it to slice something other than beef. "Still, you'll do for now. I realize that Enobaria's stronger than me, unlike Sparkle, who thought she herself was stronger than everybody. Listen: Tonight you'll offer everything you can to pair me in tomorrow's threshing brawl versus Enobaria. She will still be weak from the 'proactive intervention' my sister gave her, and besides, since when does Trainer Flavius offer any of us a break? Even if we're ill, he only gives us one recovery day. If you don't do it, I'll carve your throat like ivory when you least expect it, with no analgesic on the blade." I don't speak. I don't even nod. All I can do is remain frozen, staring at him in mute acknowledgment.

When I regain my composure, an eternity has passed even though the clock says that only a few minutes have. Expelling used air from my lungs at last, I bolt from the table and head for Enobaria's quarters. _"Go ahead! Tell her!" _Sheen shouts. "I want to see her squirm - if not beneath me in bed, then in the arena." Unsurprisingly, his fellow Careers start snickering, if not guffawing outright, but to me the joke's not funny. Just who does he think he is? Sheen himself admitted that Enobaria was stronger than he was, so why would she fall for him? Besides, and I don't mean this incestuously, but Sheen was far closer to Sparkle than to any of the other girls at this Academy. She helped him to focus, but now she's conveniently dead.

When I tell Enobaria the good news, she remains silent. Her face is stoic, but her eyes aren't. _"Fool," _she hisses through clenched teeth. I hope she means Sheen instead of me. "How is your Academy account?"

"I've got three kilos left. After I spent the last seven on setting Sheen and Sparkle up, I'm rather broke."

"The operative word being _rather," _Enobaria says slyly. "You still have money, but unfortunately I don't. I've been buying supplemental treatments for my arsenic poisoning that even Dr. Acte doesn't know about. Her assistant, Medic Carlina, is very good at routing clandestine shipments of experimental drugs through the laboratory. If I'm going to fight tomorrow, I have to do more than recover. I have to augment myself via medication instead of training, since I still feel too weak to put myself through my usual regimen. Plus, I've heard there's a new injection being developed - a combination specially formulated to make anyone unstoppable for five seconds. That's all the edge I'll need to shred Sheen. Maybe only three seconds. If he wants a threshing brawl against me, he'll damn well get it. Will you help me get that dosage? Without it, _I'm _rather…" She doesn't want to say _weak _or even _dead, _but I know exactly what she means. Thus, I nod. When the other tributes are grunting and sweating away at Conditioning Time, I head for Flavius' office.

He scowls at me: "Why are you here, instead of the gym?" However, when he sees my wallet, he smirks.

I whisper, revealing what Enobaria has mentioned. "How much for one dose of the serum, if it exists?"

"It does," Flavius says. "It's ten kilos." My face falls. "For full effect, it must be administered overnight."

"Nevertheless, I'm afraid I can't afford it. Thank you anyway, and I'll keep it in mind for the future, sir."

"You can't afford it? What a shame. I daresay, however, that in the Capitol you'd be at least a _duodecima." _His voice is low and husky. _"Worth _twelve kilos, and I don't mean as a pack mule. You're too exquisite."


	18. Chapter 18

_Trainer Flavius _is twice my age: thirty-four. Nevertheless, he approaches me and tries to stroke my hair. I back up several steps, intending to bolt from his office. "I'm a Career and a virgin. I make war, not love."

He gives me a sly look. "I love it when conquests play hard to get, but Enobaria won't get that serum."

"How do you know?" My taut arms are prepared to open the door and then slam it so hard that it splinters behind me, but my brain remembers Sheen's threat. "You can take my kilos, but you can't take me. I have three left. Place them on Sheen. I want him versus Enobaria tomorrow." Then I follow through and run. I don't care who sees me or doesn't. If there's one thing I've learned this week, through being treated as if I'm nonexistent, it's that I really don't give a rat's _gluteus maximus _about what anybody else thinks. As I head for Dr. Acte's office, I realize that's a lie in two cases: Enobaria's and Trainer Flavius'. I want her to think well of me, and _him? _At this point, I don't know what he'll do. He could kill me. I need his favor, and I may have lost my only chance to curry it. Will Flavius do some sort of 'proactive intervention' upon me? Fortunately, the first person I meet is Medic Carlina instead of her superior. _Just whom I wanted to see. _

"Yery," she says enthusiastically when she sees it's me. "How's our patient? Is she still recovering well?"

"The last time I checked, yes, although the vengeful brother of her very poisoner wants to fight her in a threshing brawl tomorrow.. After all these years, I still can't tell if Sheen Sestina is an idiot or a genius."

"Idiot. Still, if Enobaria's going to do battle, she needs a special serum that I've been shipping via the lab."

"I know, and Trainer Flavius says that it costs ten kilos. I'm totally broke now, though, because I spent my last three betting on Sheen versus Enobaria." Medic Carlina looks crestfallen. "I'm sorry. I had to do it. He threatened me at knifepoint while we were having dinner, saying he'd carve my throat like ivory if I failed."

"Knowing Sheen, he could and probably would do that, but why in Panem would three kilos be enough to secure the wager?" Her eyes flicker with a cold and calculating light that I don't like. "You're going to need at least two more to make it five, because that bastard has expensive tastes. I don't mean only in luxury, either," she continues. "Blood. I desperately need donations, and not of the _splattered-all-over-the-Mock-Arena variety."_ Carlina scoffs. "I'm serious. You Careers don't realize how precious life is. Kills are kills, I know, but I'm a Medic, and to me you're people. _People_ need healing, and I'll need two pints from you."

I turn pale. "Two pints? I thought only one pint was taken at a time."

"There are exceptions, and Dr. Acte and I are in very short supply. I'll also need any valuables you have."

"Are you kidding? Isn't blood valuable enough?" _Stupid question. _"You've seen our spartan private rooms."

"Yeah, but what I haven't seen are the 'tokens' that you all must be hiding. Come on, Yery. Yes or no?"

"I'll get back to you on that, okay?" I give Medic Carlina a harsh look, though not entirely contemptuous, because I need her on my side. _Our _side. It's time to level with Enobaria about why she enlisted me as her spy, once and for all, and so I head for her quarters. This time, she answers the door right away. "Why?"

"Why, what?" Enobaria's looking far better than I've seen her since the night of the arsenic poisoning.

"Why did you pick me to spy for you, and be your temporary ally? In exchange for that serum that will give you five seconds of invulnerability, Medic Carlina wants my blood - two pints - plus any of my valuables. If I'm going to give them to her on your behalf, I want the truth. Why me, and not some other second-tier?" She says nothing for a moment, and I almost turn to leave the room, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

"I trust you because, as I've said before, I've watched you all these years. I've seen how you fight, how you speak, how you act, and how you live your life in light of what we have to do as Careers. You believe in honor, but also in revenge. You'll only go so far in the way of sabotage, hence the wagers you've placed. Such revolting methods as Sparkle's are beneath you. When I look at you, Yery, I see myself in a mirror."


	19. Chapter 19

_After that, _I don't know what to say. Words completely fail me, so I offer Enobaria the Panem salute.

"You're welcome," she says gently. "You don't have to let Medic Carlina extract two pounds of flesh on my behalf." When I look confused, Enobaria mentions an old saying. "A pint's a pound, the world around. On the one hand, I can't believe she's being so mercenary about it, but then again, her wages are meager. That's why she wants your valuables, but I don't think either one of us has any left. Do you?" I sadly nod. "I gave my one last gold necklace, a gift from my mother for my sixteenth birthday, to Carlina already. She has quite a taste for jewelry, or at least selling it. Again, you don't have to do this, Yery. Just forget her, okay?"

"Maybe so, but I won't be able to forget you. If you'll beat Sheen tomorrow, you need that serum dose." Before she can say anything more to stop me, I leave her room and head for my own. It occurs to me that Enobaria means more to me than volunteering for the Hunger Games, even if I were a first-tier tribute. I should leave her to her own devices, because the arena only rewards the strong fighters who survive. If my new ally falls, that should be no skin off my nose. I shouldn't care. In fact, I should rejoice. If Enobaria dies, then either Sheen or Damocles will be picked to volunteer, with their consummate opponent finished off. The thing is, I don't believe either one of them deserves to be chosen. Neither is the most skilled Career. I want Enobaria to win, not only because she's the best, but also because she's my friend. Yes: _friend. _That word is almost nonexistent at this Training Academy, but it's people like us who rescue it from oblivion.

There is also _family, _almost as extinct as _friend, _but saved by the fact that winning the Hunger Games can bring glory to yours. My father knew that all too well, and it's his ring I remove from my nightstand drawer. He'd been in the Second Quarter Quell at the age of eighteen, chosen to volunteer because he'd survived his own set of threshing brawls. After that, my grandfather had a signet ring fashioned with his son's initials: _FMD. Friedrich Mohs Dolomite. _It was his token in the Quell, returned to my pregnant mother after his death. She'd given it to me when I was ten: the symbol of his legacy and vessel of his memory. How could I then give it to Medic Carlina, along with my blood, in exchange for the serum? What would Father think? Would he have been as ruthless as both she and Flavius were now? Somehow, I hoped not. I hold the ring in my palm for a little while, trying not to cry, and then steel my nerves for the ordeal to come.

"Is that all you've got?" asks Carlina when I show it to her. "One signet ring? Is it at least real gold?"

"Eighteen-karat." Opening my hand, I sigh. "It's the only valuable possession of my father's I have left."

"Oh, boo-hoo. Cry me a freaking river - of blood. At least that'll keep me well-fed for a month or two." She looks at me with thinly-veiled disdain. "Seriously. Do you know how much we Medics get paid as opposed to our resident celebrity, Dr. Acte?" She gestures to the examining table in the Medics' Clinic. "Climb up there. Let's get this over with, because grievous bodily injury never takes a holiday. I'll take that ring, though." Willing myself to go numb, I slip it into her hand. Carlina tosses it into the air and then catches it, its gold glinting in the antiseptic lighting. "Well? What are you waiting for? I've got the iodine ready." _I am not myself. I am a body full of blood, an animal, a beast. This is a minor inconvenience, not a sacrifice. I'll get my pints of blood back, but I'll never get my honor back if I…I'll simply endure the pain like a Career._

I clamber onto the examination table and let Medic Carlina hook up the blood-donation bag: two pints. She sticks me with a needle after scrubbing its point of entry with the aforementioned iodine solution, and then monitors the bag as it fills. I close my eyes, because as used as I am to the sight of blood in the Mock Arena, seeing it trickle upward into an actual receptacle like this makes me nauseous. I shut my eyes tight and concentrate on counting seconds. Medic Carlina must be inwardly gloating. As if on cue, she proves my suspicion by soft laughter. "Squeamish, eh? You're supposed to be strong. Maybe I should have switched places with you, but no. You can't even stand the sight of your own blood in a bag, let alone someone else's." I imagine Medic Carlina's voice as an electronic, automated one, reciting insults just like the digital scale in the Clinic's waiting room recites your weight. Cold. Impersonal. Dispassionate. Still, Carlina herself is none of these things, so my efforts end in failure. Her remarks make me want to hit her.

When I'm finally done giving blood, she hands me two syringes: one long and one short. "The long one has the overnight dose, which Enobaria should inject eight hours before waking. The short one is the five-second dose, which she should inject sixty seconds before the threshing brawl actually starts. Get out."


	20. Chapter 20

"_Get out?" _I ask Medic Carlina weakly. "I can barely sit up." The room spins, and blackness engulfs me.

When I finally manage to open my eyes again, Carlina is gone and another Medic, Laney, stands nearby. "Huh?!" This time I sit bolt upright, and find an IV in my arm. "Where's Medic Carlina? What happened?"

"According to her, you fainted on the examination table, which isn't surprising since she took two pints of blood from you. Doesn't that idiot know how dangerous it is to extract more than that from one person at one time? Nevertheless, I fixed her mistake and have been giving you fluids ever since. After you regained consciousness, I hooked you to an IV, and then you fell asleep normally. Good morning, Yery Dolomite."

"Good morning to you, too, and thank you. What I'm wondering now is: did Enobaria get the serum dose?"

"What? I don't know anything about that, but I recommend you rest here until at least dinnertime. We'll feed you, and by the way, Trainer Flavius knows where you are. Carlina says he asked about you, but only after your blood had been donated. He shook his head and gave this treatment order, so just relax, okay?" I go rigid, almost as if I have rigor mortis, and start breathing heavily. My heart begins to pound. _"Relax!" _I can't. I want to rip the IV out of my arm and rush to the dining hall. It's 11:57, and I'm absolutely starving. Besides, I must know if Carlina's as good as her word. Otherwise, I've lost two pints and a ring in vain. Before I can carry out my plan to detach myself from the fluid bag, however, Laney jabs me with a syringe.

_Not again…_ On the other hand, I could get used to this kind of thing, because the darkness brings relief.

"Yery. Yery?" A husky female voice awakens me, along with my hand being squeezed. "It's Enobaria. Can you hear me?" With my vision blurred by tears and my head in a fog, I nod groggily. "Thank you. I won."

"You beat Sheen?" Coming out of my mouth, which feels like gauze, this sounds like, _"Youbee Seen?" _

"I killed him in five seconds flat. Medic Carlina delivered the serum last night, while you were unconscious here in the Academy Clinic. As directed, I injected the overnight dose and then the five-second one right before our threshing brawl. Even though he was Sparkle's moronic brother, I feel rather sorry for him now. He was still in great pain from the acid-covered net burns he suffered at his sister's hands, so it's probably a good thing that I ended it. He chose a chain whip, a rare weapon, but he forgot that I could disarm him barehanded. One punch and the whip fell to the floor. Two more, straight to the neck, ended his life. I always enjoy a 'raw brawl', without any weapons but our own fists and feet. Sheen didn't stand a chance."

I wipe the tears away from my eyes and look into Enobaria's. There is no joy or even triumph in them.

"One more opponent," she says, her voice as numb as my whole body, "and I will be chosen to volunteer." Such a prospect is the highest honor a Career tribute could ever earn, yet Enobaria seems to feel nothing. "I should be glad," she continues, "but now I wonder: Where will I ever find the hate, and for what reason?" My stomach sinks, despite my sedative-induced lack of physical pain and discomfort. I suspect that she means the hate she'll need to survive not only Damocles and his double-edged sword, but the Hunger Games. As Careers, we both knew friendships were lethal, and alliances would be fraught with danger. In order to kill, you had to hate, or become a near-automaton like Damocles. He was a true killing machine.

"Think of me in our duel," I say with a thin smile, "or else of Trainer Flavius. That will give you strength."

"Not enough. I need a second serum dosage, but I don't have anything left of value to sell. My jewelry's gone. I don't have any weapons but the ones I use in the Mock Arena. I've already given blood, although more than a month ago. I even asked Flavius if he wanted…" Enobaria shudders at the thought. "He said no. 'I like my whores weak,' he told me, 'and besides, I already have someone else in mind.' Is it you?" This time, I don't even nod. We both know the answer, conveyed in my despair and her penetrating look. "Listen. He's done enough to both of us. Refuse him. I'll fight Damocles on my own, and I will win." Even though her voice is perfectly confident, I know her body isn't. How can she defeat him when she's still recovering from the dose that Sparkle gave her? Besides, what if Damocles buys the serum as well? We can't afford to take any chances, and we both know it. "I will win or perish. Death might be my victory."


	21. Chapter 21

_What day is it, _and what time? I can't move because my whole body is numb, especially my mouth. "Good morning, and Happy Hunger Games," says a person in a white uniform beside me. "Welcome aboard." _Huh? _"You've been assigned to serve the tributes from District Two, whoever they are." My blood runs cold. "The sedative should wear off in a half hour, before they climb on the train." _What? _"I can tell you're still groggy from all the general anesthesia you've been under for the past couple of days, so I'll be brief. You're on a train bound for the Capitol and the Hunger Games. You will be at Two's beck and call. Okay?" I can't nod, but at least I can blink, and I do so in a gesture of assent. _What the hell happened to me?! Think back. Remember. Enobaria needed the second dose of serum, but begged you not to pay for it._

"Don't," she said. _Now I recall. _"Let me fight Damocles on my own terms, and with my own strength."

"But you'll die," I told her, taking a big risk as well as her hand. "I'm so numb I won't even feel it, I bet. Besides, why do you have to be in a threshing brawl against him in the first place? You'll both volunteer."

"I wish," Enobaria answered, "but once again, the almighty Flavius Gratis has complicated things. He says that this year, there shall only be one volunteer from his Academy: the very best, whether male or female. If there's anything he takes special pride in, it's his cruel unpredictability. There will be no second volunteer this year, because according to Flavius, 'why not let Fortune cast her die for once'?" She looked terrified. "He wants me to prove that I can kill every single first-tier, and if I don't, Damocles will be the only one left. That's why I have to win the threshing brawl tomorrow, but you've taught me a thing or two about honor."

"I'll get you that dose, by hook or by crook," I hissed. "Honor be damned, but I hate Flavius with every fiber of my being. If I let him have me, all is lost, and he'll know he's won. Medic Carlina takes teeth, too."

Enobaria looked confused. "Teeth? Whatever for? Porcelain crowns are far better replacements for them."

"It's the enamel, which is medically useful somehow in a new compound. She can have all my back ones."

"I don't know. My advice is that when the sedatives wear off, you leave both Flavius and me to our fate." _Why didn't I listen to her? Why couldn't I have done that and let Enobaria lose, if indeed she did? I'm a Career tribute, and Careers…_I shut my eyes tight. _Careers kill, or let their opponents die by others' hands. _I continued to try and recall the events of the past (two?) days, but they passed by in a great, hazy blur. All except for Flavius, standing above me in my mind instead of one of the train Medics. His face is leering.

"_No." _I remember clearly: I'd said that word in a long, drawn-out drawl through my sedative-induced drool.

Our trainer clucked his tongue. "Refuse me once, shame on you. Refuse me twice, shame on me. I had thought Enobaria would have been enough of a commodity for you to sell yourself to your only bidder, who is no third-tier in bed. Whatever are you going to give in exchange for Enobaria's victory, and her life?"

"_Aaaaah." _I had opened my mouth wide, flashing my strong teeth. My attempt to point to them didn't work.

"I see." Flavius looked down at me gravely. "I think it's time you learned what else I export to the Capitol, besides copious amounts of coin and volunteer tributes for the Hunger Games? Medic Carlina? Extraction time." For the fourth or fifth time, I had lost consciousness, but this time I hadn't awaked from it until now.

"Here they come," says the Medic beside me. "The two tributes from our hallowed District." As I sit up, my senses begin to return to me. To my immense relief, Enobaria and an unknown boy board the train.

"_Yery?!" _she almost screams, rushing over toward me. "Open your mouth. Do it. _Now." _When I obey, the gauze falls out, white except for a smear of blood. The rest of it is _empty. _Nothing remains within it except for a stub of tongue to help me swallow, but not to speak. If you can't eat, you can't work. That's what avoxes are for. _Exports. _I'm headed for the Capitol, to serve it for the rest of my days. Nevertheless, I give the weeping Enobaria a gentle hug. I will fulfill our wager after all, and pay my loser's forfeit at long last.

_**FIN 4/2/13**_


End file.
